


Penetrating Pastries

by LinksLipsSinkShips



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: College, Food Porn, M/M, Other, and penetrates a pastry with it, except literally, he has the tongue of the cobra, how rhett got his food kink, i'm pretty sure the hot pocket consented, the one where rhett fucks a pastry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 12:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14448936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinksLipsSinkShips/pseuds/LinksLipsSinkShips
Summary: Rhett really likes food. But one day, this horny college kid can't take anymore and finds himself doing a little more than he intended to with a Hot Pocket. This sparks a lifelong love for food, where Rhett finds himself sexually aroused by it in one recent unexpected moment (and explains why he equates Hot Pockets with Link's butt).





	Penetrating Pastries

Hot Pockets had a fatal flaw, in Rhett’s opinion. They could be burning in one part of the pocket and ice cold in another. He lifted it to his mouth, blowing on it and pressing the pastry gently, seeking out any cold spots that would require a trip back out to the microwave.

He took a small bite into the end, sliding his tongue between the pockets of crust, the flavor of the pepperoni, cheese, and sauce something worth savoring. It wasn't until the third time he slid his tongue inside that he realized how ridiculous he must have looked, how much it must have seemed like he was doing something else.

He closed his eyes, tonguing the Hot Pocket and wondering what Link would think if he walked in, if he'd notice how similar the way he pointed his tongue into the flaky crust and sauce looked compared to other places he could slip his tongue into. He wouldn't lie, he'd had thoughts about other places to put his tongue, other ways he could use his mouth skills to his advantage.

If he was being honest with himself, that involved Link, too. It was hard living with him and not imagining the way Link would mewl under his touch and under the press of his tongue against Link’s entrance.

Penetrating the pastry was as close as he'd get though, and he found himself lapping the filling out of the Hot Pocket, holding it in both of his hands. He was growing hard at the thought of lapping at Link’s skin, letting his fingertips dig into the pale flesh of his ass. He continued to lick the filling out of the Hot Pocket, drawing it out of the warm pastry.

The thought of doing that to a person, sliding his tongue into them, letting his saliva pool on skin, warm and wet, was fused into his brain. He was fully hard now, sliding his hand into his boxers and toying with the tip, squeezing his hand around himself gently and stroking slowly, comfortably. He wished it was  _ more. _

Rhett wanted to bury himself inside of a person, or someone’s mouth, their hand, anything but his own fist. Then the realization dawned on him, the answer in his other hand, the same pastry he'd essentially been fucking with his tongue, warm and waiting. All he had to do was lick out another bite or two of filling and he could find a new sensation, a new release.

He couldn't imagine he was that desperate, couldn't believe he was so close to sliding himself into a Hot Pocket, but he wanted to get off, wanted to feel something new. And the Hot Pocket was  _ right  _ there.

Rhett leaned against his door, willing Link not to try to come in now, then slid into the warm Hot Pocket, feeling the pastry, the filling, and outside of that, his hand, around himself. It held up surprisingly well as he slowly slid himself in and out of it, the filling ridging around the veins and sensitive spots of his body.

The warmth felt damn near human-like, and if he closed his eyes hard enough he could picture it was something or someone else. He tried to think of someone, anyone, but his mind flitted back to his best friend, his sole focus on Link as he twisted his wrist. He was breathing hard, his grip tightening as bits of pastry fell to the floor below him.

Filling squeezed between his fingers from the pastry that was slowly starting to fail with every faster, rougher thrust and stroke. He was needy and begging, hand picking up the pace as his knees started to weaken. In his mind there was brown hair, blue eyes blinking back at him, soft lips he wanted to kiss. He ached for it, picturing Link’s body that he knew all-too-well after dozens of trips to the river, hundreds of sleepovers, and then sharing a room.

The faster he went, the more his cock throbbed in his hand and he could feel it through the pastry. He was shaking, then coming hard with one name on his breath --  _ Link. _

Immediately after, shame washed over him. The realization hit that he'd  _ actually  _ fucked a Hot Pocket, and he held his clean hand to his face in disappointment with himself. He'd given himself over to desperate, needy urges, and now there was no hiding it. He was coated with filling, pepperoni held to his softening length with sauce and come.

Rhett flicked his hand, slopping most of the mixture that remained onto a paper plate and discarding it in the trash. From there, he had no choice but to lick his hand, the sauce, the filling, the come, the bits of pastry in his mouth. He used his hand to clean himself off as much as he could, licking his hand again and sucking the filling off of each finger. Tissues easily took care of the rest of the mess, but his face still felt beet red and he felt overwhelmed with the ache in his soul over everything that had just happened.

He pushed the thought out of his mind as best he could, his stomach growling over the fact that he'd wasted the better part of his Hot Pocket. He tugged his shorts on, walking out to the common area. He pulled another pastry from the freezer, unwrapping it and sliding it into the sleeve, placing it on a paper towel and entering the numbers on the microwave by memory.

“Goddamn, Rhett, you  _ just  _ had a Hot Pocket. Do you have a hollow leg we don't know about?” Gregg joked, rolling his eyes at Rhett’s apparent overindulgence and eyeing the discarded box in the trash.

“I'm hungry,” Rhett snapped. “Long day, man.”

Link walked toward the fridge and nudged Rhett out of the way, pulling out a Mello Yello. “Hey, you got a little something…” Link swiped at a patch of sauce Rhett had missed in his cleanup efforts, on his stomach about an inch above his waistline. Link lifted the finger to his lips and licked it off. “You eat like an animal, man. Sauce all over ya.”

Rhett’s face reddened, thankful the beep of the microwave saved him from having to respond. He held the Hot Pocket and took it to his room, peeling back the sleeve and sliding his tongue into the filling.

* * *

Link was covered in sauce and pepperoni, having just stepped out of the giant box they'd made specifically for the episode.

Rhett thought he looked absolutely delicious, but stepped closer, unable to resist the smell. He  _ loved  _ food. Swiping a finger across Link’s arm and licking it off, chasing it with a piece of pepperoni, Rhett grinned. “You've got a little something… everywhere.” But the taste of sauce, the lingering pepperoni, left Rhett starting to grow hard in his jeans.

He turned away quickly, wondering what on earth could be making him feel so hot. Link tasted like an off-brand pizza, like… like a Hot Pocket. The memory hit him like a ton of bricks, his face growing pale as Link stepped around him and looked him in the eyes. “Everything okay, Rhett?”

Years had changed them, their relationship drifting apart and together, then recently  _ fully _ together, but despite their newfound love life, Rhett had never admitted to Link about his college fantasies, and, stuffed too far down in his own memories, about the Hot Pockets he'd spent a semester buying in bulk.

“I'm fine,” Rhett said. “You, uh, you kind of taste like a Hot Pocket.” Rhett hadn't eaten one since right after college, but the memory of it was still the same.

“I'm supposed to taste like a pizza!” Link groaned. “Come on, buddyroll. Help me get cleaned up.” He raised his eyebrows and waggled them teasingly. “Maybe,” Link drawled, “I'll even let you have a taste.”

**Author's Note:**

> Safety warning: It's probably best not to actually have sex with a Hot Pocket or off-brand Hot Pocket-like pastry. These can cause burns or other infections and/or painful issues to your intimate areas. Use caution when combining food and sexual play.


End file.
